


thedogblogger

by lola381pce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Dogs, Ex-Army Ranger!Phil, M/M, Photography, The Dog Soldier!Phil, Wire-haired Pointing Griffon, photographer!Clint, thedogblogger!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is successful New York based photographer who takes images of dogs in the streets and parks of the city for his popular blog 'thedogblogger'. Gathering material in one of his favourite parks for another series of posts, he sees ex-Army Ranger Phil and his service dog, Agent and falls for him big time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thedogblogger

**Author's Note:**

> This is for fitzmackopt one of my tumblr buddies who is an avid fan of wwww.thedogist.com (like me) and suggested this as a prompt...
> 
> "So, au where it's Clint that runs (maybe guerrilla style) thedogist? I'd like my favorite guy to be happy, and snapping pictures of dogs and hearing their stories seems like it'd do it."

Clint’s a photographer. A professional photographer. A pretty decent professional photographer with a career that’s been spent mostly overseas covering war zones and disasters (when he was young, hungry and idealistic) and then shoots for magazine articles and commissions for celebrity portraits (now that he’s old(er), still hungry but more pragmatic). He’s made enough of a name for himself to be able to pick and choose his assignments and to open a small but successful studio/gallery where he exhibits his work, and gives a start to up-and-coming photographers. After all these years, he still enjoys it. He always will.

But nowadays his first love is taking images for **thedogblogger** , his photo-commentary of dogs in the city of New York. He loves walking through the streets and parks, talking to people about their dogs, finding out their stories; like Jasper, a six-year old pitbull with a gorgeous head who survived being hit by a truck after being thrown from a moving car and despite permanent damage to his hip, loves chasing squirrels in the park; or Hulk a large (very large) Tibetan Mastiff who’s as gentle as a kitten, however most folk tend to avoid him because of his great size which is a shame as it makes him shy around people; and then there was Captain, a handsome two-year old golden retriever who fell through the ice last winter and despite being clinically dead for over a minute survived to wag his tail. There are many, many more and Clint loves it.

Clint’s been running **thedogblogger** for three years now and has published two books based on the photos he's taken. Most of the money he makes from it goes to dog shelters ‘coz they need help too, y’know. He’s currently pulling together material for his third book. And that’s when he sees Phil and Agent - although at that moment he's just a guy and his dog. The dog, a shaggy beast of a thing (he's not sure of her breed which is unusual for Clint) is adorable and clearly has eyes for no-one but the man she’s with; understandable as her owner is also adorable, late forties maybe, with broad shoulders and a nice ass. So sue him for noticing.

Clint stops to watch them play for a while. He’s conscious the guy uses hand signals a lot and never shouts or whistles to attract her attention. Odd and it sets him wondering. The dog's obviously well trained and always returns with the ball he throws for her receiving lots of hugs and smiles when she does. Her tail wags constantly and her tongue lolls out the side of her mouth. They're happy. It's nice. Clint's seen a lot of shit in this world so when he sees genuine happiness it tends to give him a warm feeling in his chest and gut. It’s got nothing at all to do with a random good-looking man playing fetch with his dog in the park. That would just be weird, right?

Suddenly the guy stiffens as though he knows he’s being watched. The next time the dog comes back the man gives her a different signal and she drops the ball at his feet and immediately sits to attention. He gives her a gentle scratch under her chin and fastens her lead to her collar then puts a vest on her. Oh! So she's a service dog. For some reason it makes Clint feel bad for watching as though he's intruded on a private moment. The guy picks up her ball putting it in his pocket and they head off without looking back. Clint sees the owner has a pronounced limp as he moves. There’s obviously a story there. He’d be interested to find out what it is.

Sighing, Clint gets on with his day, chatting to other owners explaining about the blog and his books. His mood soon picks up. Most are really excited and delighted to have him take their dog’s / dogs’ photo to be added, swearing they’ll look it up when they get home. Some actually look it up there and then...all hail the smartphone generation. Others know who he is as soon as he mentions the blog and go wild telling him how much they love site and what it means to them. They tell him they've spread the word to all their friends too.

It makes Clint’s day knowing that his work is enjoyed by so many people. He considers himself fortunate to have such a keen eye and talent for timing along with endless patience - dogs are not considered to be the easiest of subjects to photograph especially outdoors with so many sights and sounds and smells to distract them. Still with a squeaker toy and a cooing tone he generally gets the perfect image. 

Although he knows he’s captured some really great shots, his head just isn’t in it today. His mind keeps drifting back to the guy from earlier and he finds it a little distracting even though he’s not really sure why.

 

***

 

It’s almost a week later when Clint sees them again. Apparently the guy’s even more skittish this time and as soon as Clint stops, he signals to the dog and they’re gone. The photographer has never had this reaction before. He’s not entirely sure what he’s done to deserve it. He doesn't _believe_ he was hassling the man or his dog but okay. Not everyone likes having their photo taken or being watched, which kinda does make him sound like a creeper when he thinks about it like that. It’s a pity though and more than that it’s making him curious.

Despite Mr Adorable’s apparent lack of interest, Clint finds himself searching for him when he visits this particular park. In a city of five boroughs and 8.5m inhabitants, give or take, it's the only place he’s ever spotted the guy even fleetingly and he’s looked...frequently. It's almost becoming an obsession, much to his best friend’s annoyance. She's already told him if he throws himself on her couch again heaving yet _another_ dramatic sigh, she _will_ hurt him. But she ruffles his hair sympathetically and hands him a cookie anyway. Tasha's good like that. Still when he does it the next time he makes sure she's not chopping food or has anything in her hands that could be considered a weapon (and for Tasha that's a lot of things).

 

***

 

It's been so long since he’s seen Mr Adorbs that Clint’s practically given up. Of course that's when he feels a nudge a against the side of his leg. He looks down and sees a friendly pair of brown eyes gazing up at him. It’s the [ wirehaired pointing Griffon ](http://www.pets4homes.co.uk/pet-advice/is-a-wirehaired-pointing-griffon-the-right-dog-for-you.html) (yes, he looked her up). He smiles at her and puts his hand down for her to sniff. She does so and, apparently finding him agreeable, wags her tail allowing him to crouch down to scratch her under the chin. He looks up wondering where her owner is...not in a weird way, thank you...but she’s wearing her vest and it says US Army Rangers Vet. PTSD/EPILEPSY. She's on her own and he hopes the guy’s okay.

“Hey, beautiful. Where’s your pop, huh?”

“Here. She wanted to come say hi.” The voice is quiet with a slight huskiness which Clint's dick finds enchanting. The rest of him just about shits itself however as he didn't hear anyone approach. Heart racing he looks up into an incredible pair of intense blue eyes framed by black thick-framed glasses both of which his dick is also attracted to. He also notes a vicious scar above his right eyebrow; it’s kinda hot and strangely enough, his dick doesn’t object to it either. Figures.

He tries to think of something witty to say but apparently the blood that’s gone south to the aforementioned organ has removed all intelligent thought along with it. The best he can come up with is “Uhhhh...hi?” Mentally he punches himself in the face. Tasha will probably do it for real for him later and put him out of his misery.

Mr Adorbs gives him an amused look which, in turn, gives him tiny crinkles at the corner of his eyes. Well could the fucker get any sexier? Perhaps if he was naked, his dick answers not at all helpfully. Clint is now officially done with his nether regions trying to take control of the situation and he forces his brain to take over.

“So you decided I’m not some weird stalker then.” Oh fuck! Seriously? Where was Tasha when he needed her to kill him. Maybe he _should_ let his dick do the talking.

Mr Adorbs smile falters for a second then deepens as do the crinkles. He tilts his head and he looks down at Clint. Adorable. 

“I haven’t decided anything yet,” he says carefully then indicates to his dog. “It’s Agent who makes the snap decisions in our relationship.”

Ha ha touché, thinks Clint. He snorts out a laugh and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. He gives the dog another scratch under her chin which sets her tail wagging again, not that it really stopped. Agent huh? The names people give their pets. He guesses there must be story behind that too. In fact, he bets himself Mr Adorbs is just full of them.

“Well thank you for your confidence, Agent.” He gives her a last ruffle under the chin and stands up. The dog immediately returns to her owner’s side and presses herself against his leg. He drops his hand to the back of her head gently rubbing it with the tips of his fingers. She nudges him and he uses his nails making her sigh with contentment. Clint watches kinda envious and almost misses what the guy says.

“She won't hear you. She's deaf.”

Clint frowns. That explains all the hand signals then. “Unusual for a service dog, isn't it?”

“Unheard of,” Mr Adorbs deadpans. Clint raises his eyebrow at the pun. Seriously?

“She and I will get on just fine then.” The photographer turns his head so that the guy can see his ear and nestled behind it, the hearing aid. He turns his head back and grins.

Mr Adorbs doesn't say anything; doesn’t say he’s sorry or ask what happened, just nods. Clint respects that.

“I’m Clint by the way.” He holds out his hand. The other man hesitates and the photographer could kick himself; PTSD, maybe he’s not a big fan of being touched. Just as Clint’s about to lower it, Phil takes his hand in a firm grip. It’s not particularly cold but he notices the other man’s wearing black leather gloves. Interesting...or kinky. Clint’s dick knows which one it prefers.

“Phil.” He does that head duck thing again but this time there’s a faint blush that spreads across his cheeks. He’s gone from adorable to totally fuckable. Before his nether regions try to take control again, Clint’s brain kicks in...sort of.

“Look, I really haven’t been stalking you. I run this blog…”

“ **thedogblogger**. I asked around,” Phil tells him with a shrug when Clint looks surprised.

“So you’ve been asking about me?” Aw, mouth, no!

“Just to find out what sort of weird stalker you are.” Again with the deadpan. The photographer’s pretty much half in love already.

“So…?”

Phil frowns and tilts his head to the side slightly with the unasked question. So what?

Clint sighs but plays along. “So what do you think?”

This time Phil raises his eyebrows and tips his head forward in an encouraging nod. So what do I think about what? There’s a half-smile playing on his lips - he’s taking the proverbial. Either the older man is used to asking questions with his facial expressions or Clint can read his shorthand after a few moments of meeting him. Either way it’s kind of unnerving.

“Ah c’mon. You looked at the site. What do you think and…” Clint goes quiet. Once again he touches his hand to the back of his neck. “And can I take Agent’s photo for the blog. She sounds like she has an interesting backstory.”

Phil suddenly looks uncertain. He drops his eyes to the dog who rolls her tongue out of her mouth and lazily wags her tail at him. He smiles softly at her gently touching his fingers to her head.

Clint hurries on not wanting him to say no which looks like what’s going to happen. “Think about it, okay? I’m usually here every few weeks unless I’m on assignment somewhere. Maybe the next time we see each other you can let me know. I’d really like to hear more about Agent...and you...maybe...if y’know.” Shut up mouth. Shut up right now.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I...I’m not someone people generally want to be around long enough to get to know.” There’s genuine regret in Phil’s tone as he speaks and a sadness in his eyes that tears at Clint’s heart.  “Goodbye, Clint. Good luck with the blog. You really do a great job with it; it’s... Agent’s favourite."

He gives Clint a gentle smile before turning and limping away with the dog close by his side as always.

Clint’s stomach is in knots. He’s going to lose him. They’ve only just met and he’s going to lose him already. But he has no idea how to fix things, how to convince Phil to change his mind. Instead he watches them leave feeling absolutely gutted.

 

***

 

“Clint? I care for you very much but if you squeak that ball again…” 

The implication is left hanging. Natasha is pretty much done with Clint’s shit for today. He’d ended up at her apartment after Phil walked away from him. After throwing himself on the couch, he started squeaking the ball he carries around when he takes photos for the blog. He’s been doing it almost non-stop and Tasha's last remaining nerve is beginning to fray; she swears she can hear the fibres twang as they snap one by one.

“It's a stress reliever. The sound makes me happy,” he pouts. He gives it another squeeze before it's removed from his hand and replaced with a freshly baked cookie. Tasha is the best friend ever but he feels it's his duty to protest.

“Aw, squeaky, no.”

“It is an irritation for everyone else, little bird. On this you must trust me. Tell me again.”

She lays a mug of coffee beside him on the table and slaps his foot for him to move. He sighs but lifts his feet and she gracefully she drops onto the couch. His feet are placed in her lap, carefully; he likes his own balls where they are thank you very much. She takes a sip of her drink and listens while repeats his idea.

“So I thought Sam could maybe take a look for Phil and...I dunno…maybe have a search through his records and...y’know…” Gloomily, he sighs. “It's a dumb idea, isn't it?”

Tasha agrees. “It's one of your dumbest. Why though? He's told you he's not interested. Why pursue him?”

“He told me he doesn't think it's a good idea,” Clint corrects her. “Totally different.”

“Semantics.”

Clint pouts. Again. It's really _not_ a good look.

Tasha sighs dramatically, something she’s apparently picked up from Clint, and rolls her eyes in a way that's all her own. She picks up her phone and dials a number putting it on speaker. A few minutes later following the photographer’s request, a disembodied voice shouts, “You want me to _what_?”

“Aww, Sam…”

Sam Wilson, their friend and a counsellor for the Department of Veteran Affairs, takes a few calming breaths. He really should be used to Clint’s half-arsed plans by now. “No really, Clint. Tell me again. Tell me _why_ I should risk my job and pension with the DVA for you?”

“So...you...can...tracksomeonedownforme?” Clint buries his face in one of Tasha’s cushions. The owner of the cushion smirks behind her coffee mug taking a perverse pleasure in Clint’s discomfort.

“Oh! Right. Well that’s okay then. So long as they know it’s to further your love life, I’m sure they’ll be _very_ understanding when I’m caught.”

Clint is quiet for a moment before responding in a dejected tone. “His eyes were so sad, Sam. I don’t think he has anyone.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone followed by an exasperated sigh. “ _Ahhh...shit!_ Name?”

Clint grins and sits bolt upright on the couch.

“Phil.”

“Phil what?”

“Ehh...I dunno.” Clint’s grin fades and he slumps back into the cushions.

“That’s it? That’s all you got? Phil.” Sam’s incredulity is clear even over a phone.

“No. No. I got more. Just not a name. Late forties maybe. Ex-Army Ranger. Has PTSD and epilepsy. Walks with a limp. Scar above his right eyebrow. Has gorg... mmm, has blue eyes. Wears black-framed glasses. Oh! He has a service dog called Agent.”

Without hesitation Sam apparently identifies the man. “Shit. I don’t need to look him up. You say _he_ spoke to _you_?”

Wondering what just happened, warily Clint says yeah. He looks to Tasha who shrugs. She’s as curious as he is.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Natasha asks on behalf of Clint who’s looking just a little freaked out right now. “Sam?”

“Look. I have one more scheduled appointment. Unless I get any walk-ins, I should be finished in an hour or so. How about I come round?”

Natasha glances over at Clint who nods after a brief hesitation. “Sure. We'll get takeout.”

“You been baking?”

“Clint's here,” she reminds him. Natasha always bakes when Clint’s stressed. It helps him cope with his problems and it helps her cope with him. It’s a win, win.

He laughs. “Save some for me.”

 

***

 

Although he’s trying not to let it show, Clint’s like a five year-old on Christmas Eve waiting for Sam to arrive. He’s driving Tasha to distraction, so much so she sends him out on three separate occasions - once for groceries, the second time for things she doesn’t actually need and finally for takeout. The takeout she admits could be a disaster as Clint’s given up all pretence of being cool and is bouncing with anticipation by this time - he could literally come back with anything. Fortunately, he’s not so far gone that self-preservation doesn’t kick in and he has everything Tasha’s asked for...more or less. Sam’s already there when he returns triumphant. 

In between mouthfuls of food their friend breaks umpteen rules of the Department of Veteran Affairs any one of which could get him hauled up in front of his bosses and lose him his job. But it’s Clint and Natasha and he trusts them. Well...he trusts Tasha and thereby extension, Clint. He hopes. Because Clint is infamous for jumping into things without considering the consequences first.

First he asks the photographer how serious he is about getting to know Phil - and it’s still Phil. He won’t release his full name under any circumstances, Clint being a friend or otherwise. If he gets the wrong answer all bets are off. He has his takeout, Tasha’s homemade cookies and goes home. His vets are his priority, no matter what. He’s not running a dating agency after all. But knowing that Phil had approached Clint, a stranger… well now. As far as he knows, he’s never done that before and he’s pretty sure that means something.

Clint stares at him for a moment. When he puts his plate down and leans forward looking the other man straight in the eye, Sam realises he’s pretty damn serious about the whole thing.  Clint would usually talk with his mouth full and end up wearing half his meal.

Sam exhales a long breath and puts his own plate on the table in front of him to demonstrate his own sincerity. “First off, just so as you know, Phil’s a good guy. Okay?”

Clint lets go of a breath that he didn’t realise he’d been holding. He’s relieved obviously but equally obviously there’s something else Sam’s holding back. “So what is it you’re _not_ telling me?”

“I’m guessing from what you’ve seen, you probably realise Phil was invalided out of the army.” At Clint’s nod, he went on to talk to him about how the arrival of a service dog helped get the ex-Army Ranger back on his feet.

 _Phil has been attending Sam’s branch of the DVA since his release from hospital. For the first few months of rehab he rarely spoke. He attended his therapy sessions, physical and counselling. He did his rehab exercises and, physically, he made slow but steady progress. Mentally however he seemed to be trying very hard to keep things together. If he came to group sessions he listened, he watched, but he didn’t take part. Every visit he seemed to get more withdrawn. From what Sam had read in his file,_ **_this_ ** _Phil Coulson was a very different man to Coulson, Phillip J - Sergeant in the US Army Rangers. It wasn’t unusual for a survivor of severe trauma but it was worrying._

_Several weeks into Sam’s period of unease at Phil’s state of mind, a new guy began to attend when he moved to New York from Boston. He had a service dog and when he saw it, Phil seemed to relax and at the same time, come alive. His eyes brightened for the first time. He still didn’t join in and he didn’t make first contact with Trip or his dog, Commando but when the young man with the wide grin allowed his equally cheerful springer spaniel to approach, Phil smiled and made a gentle fuss. That night before he went home, Sam completed the forms recommending that Phil get his own service dog._

_A few sessions later, Commando also diagnosed Phil’s epilepsy. Unusually the dog left Trip’s side before he gave the release and sat in front of Phil alert and to attention. Trip spoke quietly to the ex-Army Ranger and at Sam’s request took him to a side room; within half an hour he suffered a mild attack. His epilepsy was confirmed during tests at his next medical check up. Sam added the information to his notes and the recommendation and within a few weeks, Phil entered the service dog programme._

_After one near disaster early on, Phil came on leaps and bounds when he was paired with Agent. In the beginning, he remained quiet but not subdued, but slowly he began conversations instead of merely responding to questions and finally started to join in with some groups sessions. Gradually, Agent was helping him regain some of his old confidence._

Finishing his last forkful of Pad Thai, Sam concludes his observations about Phil. “He’s so much more self-assured now than when he first came to the DVA. He even helps out with our more traumatised vets; he seems to have a calming influence on some of them. He still has setbacks and it can take him weeks to bring himself back again. Still I was surprised when you said he approached you in the park.”

Clint at least had the decency to blush. His hand strayed to the back of his neck, a sure sign he was nervous about something.

“He _did_ , didn't he?” asked Sam warily. It was the main reason he came tonight figuring it was a major breakthrough for Phil.

“He did. I swear he did, Sam.” Clint paused realising how the next part was probably going to sound. “But I guess I’d kinda been watching him. The first coupla times he high tailed it outta the park. It was the third time he spoke to me.”

“Jesus! You were _stalking_ him?”

“No. Well...not deliberately.” He glanced over at Tasha for some support but once again she was having too much fun at her friend’s expense and refused to say anything remotely helpful. Damn the squeaky ball incident from earlier! Clint carried on before Sam could get the wrong idea - or the right idea but the wrong way.

“First time I saw him I thought he looked...kinda nice. And Agent would have been perfect for **thedogblogger** , really photogenic, y'know. It was all innocent, Sam, I swear. The second time, okay I admit, I was watching for him...for them. But when I did spot him, he left before I could go talk to him. When I went to the park for a few weeks after that I did keep a lookout but he never seemed to be there when I was. So by the third time I’d kinda given up. It was as much as surprise to me when he came over and said hi. But when he did, we talked about Agent and the blog, and I dunno...stuff. Then I asked him if I could take her photo ‘cause she sounded interesting and so did he and _that's_ when he thought it wasn't a good idea. He said people generally didn't stick around long enough to get to know him. And then he left. Up ‘til then things had been going fine. He was really funny; well kinda dry humour but...what?”

Sam gave a short laugh. "It took nearly eighteen months for me to find out what Phil's humour was like. You get to see it after one time."

Clint flushed bright red again although this time he’s not entirely sure why. “So...what now?”

“I suppose that’s up to you...and Phil. He’s responded to you in a way I’ve not seen before, at least not outside the DVA and that change for him has only been in the last six months or so. He’s also warned you that he doesn’t think it would be a good idea, so I guess...bear that in mind. He's a pretty private guy especially about what happened to him in Kandahar. Aside from being left with PTSD and epilepsy, physically he was badly injured in the attack. The limp and scar are the most obvious but I don’t know if you noticed, he lost his left hand too.”

Actually Clint _hadn’t_ noticed. Although when he thought back, he remembered the black leather gloves that Phil had been wearing which did seem odd for the time of year. Must have been to cover an artificial limb.

“He wears a prosthetic?”

Sam nodded then narrowed his eyes. “Does that matter?”

Clint snorted. “Not to me.”

His friend nodded but his face remained serious. He didn’t doubt Clint’s sincerity but in his experience some people starting a relationship, or even _in_ a relationship, thought they could handle severe scars or burns or prostheses but in reality it was just too much. Same went with PTSD. Some partners couldn't come to terms with the vivid flashbacks, the nightmares, feelings of distress or periods of extreme alertness, changes in behaviour or character of someone they loved. He didn't judge them, it would be hell for both, but again his first priority was his vets.

“Well, like I said before, something to think about.” Clint had gone quiet again, picking at the food left on this plate. Sam decided it was time to change the pace for a while. “So, Tasha… you mentioned something about baking? I don't suppose...?”

After matching Clint cookie for cookie (no mean feat, Clint’s a pig when it comes to his friend’s baking) and pretty much cleaning Natasha out of her supply, Sam tells them he has an early appointment the next morning so he’d better be off. He gives Natasha a peck on the cheek and thanks her for the food, especially the cookies. She rolls her eyes promising to make a batch for especially for him next time which makes him grin that much harder.

Clint also announces his intention to leave. Tasha gives him a hug. “You sure you don’t want to stay?”

“Nah. I got some stuff I need to do.”

By that she understands Clint will probably be on the internet all night researching service dogs, PTSD, loss of limbs...anything that would help him understand a little more about Phil. She did the same thing when Clint became partially deaf a few years back and she wanted to learn how the loss of hearing in one ear was likely to affect him. She is his friend and a friend should know these things.

She nods and kisses his forehead. “Remember to sleep,” she tells him as a parting shot. He smiles aware that she knows how the rest of his night will go. It’s not until he’s walking down the street with Sam that he realises she’s slipped the squeaky ball and the rest of the cookies into the pocket of his jacket. Sneaky scarlet-haired Ninja!

 

***

 

It’s another month before Clint makes it back to the park. He takes two new assignments; one in California - some spy / superhero show where the lead looks a lot like Phil by awesome coincidence. He has trouble concentrating when he has to do the guy’s personal shots but it works out fine and he doesn’t make too much of a dick of himself. The guy’s enthusiastic and seems genuinely interested in Clint’s work especially when he hears about **thedogblogger**. Apparently, he has two of his own and mentions that pretty much the whole cast and loads of the crew have dogs; he should stop by afterwards and meet some of them. He seems like a really nice guy and Clint warms to him and the rest of the cast. Before he leaves, he’s dragged over to meet the dogs that are on set by one of the female members of the cast. She gushes over her own, a cute little mop of a thing and chats away to him as he takes photos for the blog. He does his best not show his disappointment it’s not the Phil lookalike who's brought him here which isn’t too hard as the kid and her dog are really sweet. He hopes the show’s a success and figures he’ll give it a try when it airs in a few months.

The other assignment is a few days in Flatrock, Michigan doing a shoot for the launch of a new muscle car which is pretty fucking amazing thank you!  Like the T.V. studio, the car manufacturer makes him welcome taking him round the race track and surprisingly, for such an enormous company, bends over backwards for him giving has much access to the car and the factory as he requests. In the end they’re pretty damned pleased with the results. It’s been a pretty good month and the wolves are kept from the doors again leaving him time to spend on the blog.

He gets to the park at 7am when there are plenty of people taking advantage of the off-leash times playing fetch and chase with their pets. A few of the dogs race up to him, tails wagging and then tear off again in search of new adventures and playmates. Some of the owners know him from previous visits and ask him how the blog’s doing and when the new book’s coming out. He chats to them in between taking photos. But there’s no Phil.

At ten he decides to call it a day and takes a stroll over to one of his favourite places, [ Lullwater Bridge ](http://forgotten-ny.com/2001/08/the-bridges-of-prospect-park/). He loves the stillness there and at this time of the morning on a weekday there’s not so many people around. He’s been there for maybe ten / fifteen minutes enjoying the tranquillity of the lake, enjoying the view and watching dragonflies dart in all directions while he thinks, when he smells the unmistakable scent of brewed coffee and realises someone’s standing beside him.

“I didn’t know what you take but I guessed you're a coffee guy.”

It’s that same warm husky voice that sends shivers down Clint’s spine. He turns to face the owner who’s doing that cute head-duck thing with a small smile playing across his lips. Fuck he’s still adorable! Beside him, as always, is the wire-haired pointing Griffon gazing at him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Phil’s holding a coffee carrier with two takeaway cups and offers it to Clint.

Heart thumping in his chest, Clint carefully takes one and snaps off the lid to take a sip...black and strong. Perfect! He leans his hip against the cast iron rail of the bridge and does a head duck of his own trying not to let the grin split his face in two.

“So you decided I’m not some weird stalker then?”

“I haven’t decided anything yet...but I’d...like the chance to try.”

Clint holds out his free hand, "Hi. I'm Clint, **thedogblogger**."

Phil puts the tray down and takes Clint's hand in his own. "Phil, and I guess I'm The Dog Soldier."

**Author's Note:**

> There are likely to be changes to tags as the series progresses. Not sure when that will be but the next part is the story from Phil's point of view. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy thedogblogger and if you do, please feel free to leave comments and/or kudos. It really helps to know what you think.
> 
> As always the characters are not mine but belong to Marvel and Disney. I'm just having a little fun with them.


End file.
